


Ramble On

by skeating



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, College Student Castiel, College Student Dean, Dean Thinks He is Heterosexual, Dean in Denial, Gay Castiel, M/M, Mechanic Dean, POV Third Person, Waiter Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:32:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeating/pseuds/skeating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a massive chemical fire upends Dean Winchester's life, he is anything but able to ignore his call to action. He rescues a boy's life from the burning building, only realizing later that he'll have to stay with him longer than intended until the boy heals. The boy with his crazy hair and bright blue eyes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Accept It, Dean

Ramble On

Dean smirked as he picked up his fourth shot glass of the night. Tipping his head back and letting the hard whiskey into his mouth, his throat burned that familiar fire from having too much to drink. Slamming the glass down onto the bar top, he spun around in his chair and watched the scenes unfolding in the crowded room. In the corner, the old drunk was slumbering away, head leaned upon the wall. As usual, there were the girls dancing in the middle, wearing not nearly enough clothes, most with too- tight tops showing so much skin or skirts that were folded over at the band five times too many. Normal every other night for Dean. Nothing different… Except maybe the two gigantic guys who were currently dragging a much smaller guy outside. 

This can’t end well. Dean thought. Not that it was any of his business, but Dean started towards the back entrance of the bar anyway. The fight wouldn’t be fair, and that smaller guy would probably end up on one of those lists of those anonymously killed behind a gross bar in a stupid, drunk fight that the killers won’t even remember the next day. 

Maybe the guy just owed them money or something.. This isn’t your fight. Dean shook his head and pushed open the back door. Outside was empty except for the dirty puddles on the ground from the recent rain and slight drizzle. He stepped out onto the small cement entranceway above the stairs and looked around. There, at the end of the alley, was the guy cornered by the two monstrous men. Dean walked quietly over to where they were, staying close to the shadows of the walls as not to be seen. He could see the blatant fear in the victim’s eyes as the opponents cracked their knuckles and spoke something to him. 

The guy shook his head, apparently denying whatever the men had said. He glanced desperately behind them and caught Dean’s eye. Dean shook his head, eyes wide with alarm, and put a finger to his lips. The man quickly looked away and swallowed hard. Dean, who had continually been creeping forward, finally was in earshot. 

“I love how he thinks he did nuthin’,” the man on the left said.

“You think a couple hits to the head’ll knock him in place?” the other grinned.

“Why not give it a shot,” Left said.

“Davey, we need that money. He said he ain’t got it. How hard is the punishment?” A wicked smile grew on his face.

Davey responded, “Till we get a good answer.”

The other nodded and looked down at his ringed fingers. Suddenly his hand shot out and a solid crack sounded as it collided with the cornered man’s jaw. He fell to the filthy ground and cupped his jaw with a hand as he looked fearfully up at the attacker.

“You might not want to do that,” Dean spoke up. 

Both men turned and sized him up scrutinizingly. “Who the hell are you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Who are you guys though? Some kind of dealers?” Dean lowered his head slightly so his eyes raised in a more threatening manner. He tried to stall so the guy could get away.

“None of your business.” The taller man said.

“Woah, Mike, he might want to buy from us,” Davey muttered to his partner. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Exactly what I want. Now what am I buying?” 

Mike stepped closer to the wall where Dean was standing. “We got a whole bunch of stuff.”

Dean mockingly nodded, saying, “Wow, great, do you have a two douchebags in stock? Oh wait, they’re right in front of me.”

By this time he noticed the guy had disappeared from the corner, and he realized that he didn’t have a plan as how to get out of his own fight. It was now his turn to be the anonymously killed corpse found behind the bar. He began to back up. 

The two monsters squinted their beady eyes and took a few steps forward as Dean continued to move backwards. 

Dean clenched his jaw as he glanced from the left to the right man, trying to figure out a plan as soon as possible. He could always call someone, but he doubted he would be able to get to his   
phone in time. 

The back door to the bar slammed open, and two men stepped out onto the entryway. The previously cornered man was standing above the stairs next to the manager and was pointing to the two huge men about to descend on Dean. 

The manager yelled out, “I’ll call the cops!” as the duo turned to him. 

Davey looked at Mike and sighed, “Why does this always happen to us?”

The manager’s stern face took Dean by surprise, but then again he was sure the manager was used to the fights behind his building. 

The two assaulters turned and shuffled away, but not before muttering, “We’ve seen your face, watch your back.”   
Dean glanced back up to the patio on which the manager and the other man stood and smiled thankfully. “You probably saved my ass back there.” 

The manager nodded, but as he was about to say something the other man cut in, “You had saved me first; I was merely repaying the favor.” His voice was hard, but quiet and gravelly. Dean met his eyes for the second time that night, but only then had he seen the true blue of the man’s eyes under the light above the door. 

He snapped out of his daze as he realized the manager had said something to him. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said come back in. Free round on me,” he answered.

Dean smiled in gratitude but declined, saying he had already had enough for one night and still had to get home on his feet. 

“Another time, then,” the manager smiled and went to shut the door. “You coming, sir?” he asked to the blue-eyed man, who had merely stood there silently. He nodded and followed back into the bar. 

Without fully knowing it, Dean climbed the stairs and opened the door again, looking for the previous victim who had actually saved him. Glancing around, the man was gone. He went back up to the counter and asked the manager, about to go to the back room.

“Hey do you know where that other guy went?” Dean asked.

The manager shook his head and shrugged. “He was just here.. But he’s here very often. I’m sure you can catch him tomorrow.”

Dean nodded, smiling. “Thanks.”

With that, he left.

 

As a college student, Dean was forced to go back to class the following Monday, Spring Break being over. He trudged along the sidewalk, the sun far too bright for this early in the morning, when he should have been sleeping. Class was exceptionally boring, nothing adding color to his day. After the hour long lecture, he managed to make his way to his job at the diner without being late. He shoved open the door, and his friend Ash working behind the counter laughed.

“Stayed out too late last night drinking, Dean?” 

Dean just lifted his eyes to Ash’s and glared. He was too tired to argue. After being able to sleep in for such a long time, it was hard to get back to the schedule of class. 

He washed his hands in the back sink and pulled on an apron over his head, ready for the crowd of students that were going to flood in around noon for the mandatory coffee needed for a college kid to last the day. Ash wandered lazily over to the radio and turned on Dean’s favorite radio station. The classics. The mood in the room immediately lifted to the roof when Dean got out the spatula and used it as a microphone, singing along to Led Zeppelin. Another coworker, Jo, came out from the kitchen and began laughing as she saw the fun. Dean usually stayed out late studying or at a bar, and even though he was always tired, he managed to make the morale in the diner so much better. He was always fooling around, and since he also was a competent worker, the owner Ellen would never fire him for goofing off. 

Dean actually was a talented dancer, knowing exactly how the rhythm and tempo went and moving his feet accordingly. He wasn’t a bad singer, either, when he actually tried. Slowly a trickle of students came into the diner, but that didn’t bother Dean or his dancing. A couple of students snickered at him, and the number of occupants in the room continued to grow. He was the entertainment of everyone, and when Jo came back from serving a table, she held up a ten dollar bill. 

“Look at this tip! Don’t stop, Dean,” her eyes were filled with glee. 

He laughed and answered, “Are you kidding? This song is so good. I don’t do it for the tips anyway.”

“Who’s the singer?”

“James Hetfield.”

“Nice,” she nodded and went back behind the counter to put away the money.   
Soon enough most of the diner was filled with students, but many of them merely wanted a cup of coffee like usual. Standing aimlessly behind the counter, Dean’s ears perked up as he heard “Hotel California” coming through the speakers. 

Ash saw his eyes light up and groaned. “Not again.” This was probably his most dramatic dance, and it definitely got a few stares. 

Dean worked behind the counter, so most weren’t able to see him anyway, but for those who could see him, he was very noticeable. As the first verse started, he ran his hands through his hair and mouthed the words while flipping a burger. Once the chorus started his feet began to do their own thing, and he whisked around with a huge grin plastered on his face.   
Jo handed him an order for three more coffees, and he shuffled over to the coffeemaker, feet and shoulders moving to the beat.

Dean advanced back towards Jo and theatrically invited her to dance. She smirked and pushed him away. The diner was filled with chatter by the numerous students, and a few more came through the door, the small bell announcing their arrival. As Dean stopped for a moment to catch his breath and there was a pause before the next song, he heard the bell from the front door and glanced up to see a man come in, his blue flannel matching his eyes exactly. Not recognizing the newcomer, Dean’s eyes merely slid over the man and back to the radio as another classic came on. 

“Damn, this is my day,” Dean said as he prepped himself for the new song.

Jo lifted her head, as did every customer, when they heard the widely known song come through the speakers. They all knew Dean was going to go crazy with this one; it was everyone’s favorite. 

Ash pointed with his chin at the waiting students, signaling for Dean to serve them. He sighed and grabbed a notepad on his way to the entrance. First up were two girls wanting a seat, and second were a group of guys needing a booth. Third was the student in flannel. As their eyes met, the blue eyes narrowed as the green eyes crinkled at the corners in a smile. 

“Party of one, eh?” Dean questioned, turning to lead the way to a table. His customer remained silent, so Dean turned back around, brow furrowed. “Hey, you okay?”

He took in the image of the man then. Early twenties, nice build, dark brown- almost black hair hidden mostly under a grey beanie, and of course the piercing blue eyes. He looked at Dean impassively and shrugged. Dean shook his head and faced forward again. He placed a menu on the single table and said that he’d be right back for drinks.

“Don’t worry about me.. Take your time,” the man said. 

Dean glanced back at him while strolling to the short queue of people waiting to be seated. Jo stepped in front of him and grabbed the next group of kids. Ash entered from the opposite direction and snagged the few after that. Left empty-handed, Dean went back to the counter and leaned heavily. He noticed that the song had just gotten to the chorus, and started singing half- mindedly, yet loudly to the famous lyrics.

“Sing me a song, you’re the piano man. Sing me a song tonight. Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody, and you’ve got us feeling alright,” His voice was heard by the girl sitting on a barstool next to him, who turned and smiled at him.

“You’ve got a pretty good voice there,” she looked friendly, but Dean assumed the guy sitting next to her had her taken. 

“Eh.. Thanks,” Dean smirked. He hadn’t even realized he’d been singing out loud, but his confidence grew a bit at the comment. She handed him a ten dollar bill and said thanks for the milkshake she had. He gaped at the money in his hand. Milkshakes weren’t even five dollars, and he didn’t even serve her. When he lifted his head, she was gone with the boy who had sat next to her. 

Jo came back to the counter and grinned at him, holding up a small stack of money. “Can you dance again?” Dean rolled his eyes, but Jo stuck out her lip stubbornly. “Please?” 

He sighed and said, “Turn it up.”

She smiled again and reached for the volume dial. 

“He said ‘Bill, I believe this is killing me,’ as a smile ran away from his face. ‘Well I’m sure that I could be a movie star if I could get out of this place,” Dean twirled Jo around and loudly sang the lyrics. Multiple tables glanced up with amused expressions. 

Jo laughed and said, “You’re being really loud, you know.”

A smug look crossed his features. “You told me not to stop.”  
Dean, shouting out the chorus, moved in between the tables back to his customer. The man was watching him as he spun around to dodge Ash carrying a couple of plates of food. 

Dean glanced at the man and asked, “So would you like something to drink?” 

He stared up at the waiter for a few seconds in silence before answering. “Yes, please.”

Dean drew his mouth into a line and asked again, “Okay, what will it be?”

The man had no expression, so Dean didn’t know if he was being frustrating purposefully or not. They stared evenly at each other, neither speaking. Dean’s eyes continually were being drawn downwards to the man’s tight lips and sharp jawline. His slight scruff showed he hadn’t shaved for a few days, and his dark mussed hair looked like he had just woken up after a very interesting evening… Dean broke the eye contact by glancing quickly to the side. 

“…Sir?” 

The man cocked his head to the side. “I just told you.”

Dean’s eyebrows lowered. Maybe this guy was messing with him. “Oh, did you? What did you say?”

He narrowed his eyes as he replied easily, “Just coffee, please, regular.”

Heat trickled into Dean’s cheeks as he realized that he had just made his customer repeat himself. He had been completely distracted the first time, when he asked what he wanted to drink, and the man had licked his bottom lip. That slight motion had Dean staring at the man’s mouth instead of listening to the order. 

“Right, sorry,” Dean said, cheeks hot.

A ghost of a smile slid over the man’s face as Dean clenched his jaw and spun towards the counter. He felt himself being watched as he weaved in between the tables, and when he turned again to glance back at his customer, the green met with the blue momentarily. 

Jo interrupted the tension by punching Dean lightly in the arm and saying, “The two of you sure are staring at each other a lot. Do you know him?” 

Dean shook his head, reluctantly breaking the eye contact with the man to look at Jo. “Not sure. I feel like I might’ve seen him before but..” He trailed off when he recognized the knowing look on his friend’s face. 

“Are you sure that’s why you keep looking at him? Or.. could it possibly be something else?” A sly smirk crossed her features as she ducked away from Dean when he swatted at her. 

“Shut it, Jo,” he said, busying himself with drying a dish on the side counter.

“I don’t hear a denial,” she teased.

“When does your shift end?” Dean tried to change the subject.

“Not soon enough.”

“Yeah, same, but this place is packed already. It’s gonna be a long day,” he walked away from the conversation to visit his tables and see how everyone was doing. As three o’clock rolled around, the shop was rapidly emptying of customers going to their classes or their night jobs. 

The sun was lowering in the sky and cast a dark orange glow through the front windows and painted the small café with a deep shine. Dean sighed and slung a towel over his shoulder as he finished wiping down yet another table. He looked around the tables and saw only a few people still sitting quietly. Ash had changed the radio station to something much more subtle.   
Not that it would matter anyway, seeing how most of the customers who came to work on laptops in the shop wore earbuds.

 

~*~

 

After table six had been given the bill and table five had gotten a refill of decaf, Dean ambled back to the counter to grab a rag and wipe down the empty places quickly before anyone else came. On his way to the table next to the blue-eyed man, he looked to the left to see him reading an old, torn up book in one hand, with his coffee mug in the other. He seemed so relaxed, sitting alone in the corner of the diner, peacefully minding his own business with a good read. 

The man glanced up and Dean stood still in the middle of the crowded room, both men staring at each other, not discreetly either. That ghost of a smile flickered across the man’s face again, and Dean felt a bit of heat creep into his cheeks, but the staring contest wasn’t finished until Jo almost knocked into Dean’s shoulder.

“What are you doing, dude? This place is packed, and you’ve got work to do.” 

A smirk crossed over Dean’s features as he thought up a witty comeback. 

“Don’t try, Dean. You were looking at that guy, again, weren’t you?” Jo raised her eyebrows as she ended the sentence as more of a statement rather than a question. 

“Jo, leave it alone. He was looking at me first.”

“You should ask him to go to coffee.”

A pink hue rose into Dean’s cheeks as he answered, “You know I’m not actually gay, right? You and Ash make fun of me for that all the frickin’ time, too.”

Jo snickered and said, “Yeah, okay. You know that we only say that when we see you checking out guys, right? We’re not completely oblivious to you. We’ve known you for years.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’ve been working here since the semester began. More like six months that years.”

“Whatever,” Jo said over her shoulder as she turned to leave. “I say go to that new coffee place Mocha Aroma down the street.”

Dean clenched his jaw and didn’t respond. He turned in the direction of the man with the disheveled hair and eyes as blue as a cloudless summer sky… Dean closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, trying to get his mind on something else. Or someone else at least. 

Dean moved over to the counter and leaned heavily on it, resting his head down on the cold marble. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty done, too,” Jo came over to him and put her chin in her hands. “That guy is still here. I dare you.”

Dean groaned loudly before replying, aggravated. “If I do talk to him as more than his frickin’ waiter, I wouldn’t ask him out because of a stupid dare.” He didn’t look up.

Jo elbowed him, but he still remained down on the counter. “He’s looking at you right now. C’mon this is your chance! Just do it.”

Dean glanced up and glared. “Jo. Stop.” 

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’re already losing something that you don’t even have.”

Dean made a face. “What the hell does that even mean?” Jo turned her back and walked away.

Ash handed over a mug of hot coffee, and thanking him, Dean went to give it to the stranger.   
“Sorry for the wait,” he said as he approached the table. 

The customer looked up with a small smile, placing a paperback on the table. “What wait?”

Dean smirked. “Right, never mind.” He put the cup down. “Anything else, sir?”

The man’s eyes narrowed at the title. “I’m good for now, thanks.”

At this time, most people would move away to do more productive things in the small café, but some invisible, nontangible glue held Dean’s feet to the spot right next to his customer’s table.  
“Sorry if this is weird, but I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

As the other man began to answer, Dean shook his head and said, “You’ve probably just been here before. Never mind.” 

He just now realized how clammy his hands were getting merely by talking with his customer.   
The seated man huffed a small laugh. “Stop telling me to never mind.”

Dean’s eyes widened and his cheeks were becoming heated. “Right, sorry, I-“

The man laughed again. “And stop with the sorry thing.”  
Dean’s hand rose to the back of his neck, and he began to say sorry again before realizing, and rubbed his neck awkwardly.

“My name is Castiel. You were the one who saved my life behind the bar the other day, remember?” A sardonic smirk crossed his face. 

Dean’s brows furrowed. “Wait, that was you? Who were those guys anyway? Did they hurt you?”

Castiel’s smirk turned into more of a frown. “No, I’m fine. I borrowed something from them a while ago and didn’t have anything to give them in return.”

Dean nodded. “At least you’re okay. And I have you to thank in return for saving my own life.. So I guess we’re even now, right?”

The other man smiled a bit. “Of course.”

A silence passed over them as Dean stood there, staring down at the man in front of him, drinking in his features. Those amazingly blue eyes, those sharp cheekbones, those full pink lips that took most of the stare. 

A clearing of someone’s throat was heard from behind Dean, and he turned to see Jo looking pointedly at him again. He rolled his eyes and moved back to Castiel. “Tell me if you need anything else.”

As Castiel nodded, Dean went back to the bar counter. “Damn, how much longer?” 

Ash snorted. “You ask that every time you come back over here.”

“I can’t help it. I’m bored.”

“Then turn the music up or something.” He used his towel to motion to the radio.

Cranking the small dial on the side, Dean made the music more noticeable in the small café and nodded his head to the beat as he recognized the song.   
“Nice. AC/DC.”

Ash nodded in return. “Yeah, they’re not bad.”

You shook me all night long. Dean sang loudly, attracting attention from a few near people. And one particular farther away person looked up in amusement, eyes searing into his waiter.  
His dance moves attracted more attention. Ash good-naturedly hit him with his towel and shushed him. 

Jo returned to the bar area and slapped down a twenty. “We got another one. I swear this is all you, Dean.”

Dean directed the next line of the song directly at her. I’m workin double time on the seduction line. Jo laughed. “Yeah, maybe you should be directing that seduction line over to that guy,” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Castiel, who was looking at Dean at the bar, “who, by the way, is still checking you out.” 

Dean snorted. “You know, just because someone is looking at another person doesn’t mean that they’re checking them out.”

Jo made a shocked face. “I cannot believe that just came from Dean Winchester’s mouth.”  
He tried to be angry, but it was true. He knew he would usually take any chance of someone looking at him a lot to have a little fun that night. Long time, actually committed relationships? Not his forte. He’d only been in an actual relationship once, and not too long ago, with this girl named Lisa he met in high school. But this was college. And Castiel was a guy. 

“Sarcasm noted.” He said and turned away.

For the next ten minutes he bustled about the restaurant, taking orders, wiping down tables, Jo reminding him to ask out his customer, continually glancing up at him to meet his bright blue eyes again. 

When he went back to Castiel’s table, he could already feel the heat rising into his cheeks, all the words Jo had told him rushing through his head. “Anything else, sir?”  
Castiel’s eyes slightly darkened at the word “sir”, and a smile flickered briefly across his face. Or maybe Dean just imagined it. He was looking at those pink lips way too much anyway,

Dean just barely caught the words “just the check please” escaping from those lips, being slightly too preoccupied in scanning the man’s features. He quickly nodded and went to go get the request.

“Is he leaving?” Jo asked as Dean approached the counter. 

“Yeah,” he said absentmindedly. It didn’t matter how good this guy looked. He was still a guy. 

“Okay, I have an awesome idea,” Jo seemed too excited for this.

Dean glanced up. “For what?”

“On how you can ask him out, stupid. Okay so-“

“Jo! Can you stop? Seriously, it’s not funny anymore. I’m not asking him out.”

She stopped dead, the grin falling off her face immediately. “Wait really?”

He gave her a look, and her eyes crashed in disappointment. “Okay whatever, Dean. You’re not   
still caught up in this whole ‘he’s a guy so I can’t’ thing, are you? Because that is incredibly idiotic.” Jo said.

When Dean didn’t answer, she said clearly. “I don’t care. I’m giving him your number.” She grabbed the check off the counter and snatched a pen, quickly maneuvering her way around the counter and to Castiel’s table. Dean’s eyes widened in panic and he tried to stage whisper her name to stop her, but she was too far gone. He ran his hands through his hair and turned his back to the rest of the restaurant, facing the kitchen, teeth clenched and breathing fast.

Jo put the check on Castiel’s table and smiled at him. She ripped a quarter off at the top and scribbled ten digits on it before placing it on top of the check. “That’s from your waiter from earlier. He’s a little busy right now so he asked me to do it.” She smiled sweetly. “You can pay up front. Enjoy your night!”

Castiel looked up at her in surprise. He hadn’t actually expected anything to come of his staring but thankfully he had gotten his opportunity without having to do anything. All thanks to this little blonde girl named Jo he had no idea about.

 

~*~

 

Jo waltzed back up to the counter with a smug smile. Dean’s glare was full of loathing and harnessed anger. “What. The. Hell.” He said, trying to control himself from yelling.  
“I don’t see the problem. If he calls you, then you guys can actually talk and meet each other. Maybe something will actually come of this. And then you can have me to thank. I think Jo is a good name for a –“

He walked away before Jo could finish. “Dang, what didja do now, Jo?” Ash walked from the kitchen. 

“I might have given some hot dude his number. And that hot dude might have the impression that Dean wanted me do it.”

Ash grimaced, then grinned. “That’s amazing and terrible at the same time. I’m still proud of you, though. Good job. We needed to get him out there sometime.”

Dean was walking to the far back of the restaurant, collecting used coffee mugs from empty tables. He could hear his friends’ laughter and his anger lifted a bit. But just a bit. That was an awful thing to do. After his dad leaving and having Dean taking on two jobs at once in between his rough college classes, he didn’t even have any time for a relationship. And he’d never been with a guy before, anyway. What the hell was Jo thinking? He would just have to turn this guy down and apologize for the confusion. Ruining someone’s day. Always something Dean’s been good at, whether wanting to or not. He shook his head. 

As always, in the back of his mind, the whisper of the question What if? floated around. What if he did go on this date? So what if he was a guy? That never mattered in the past. Yeah, but I’ve never looked at a guy like that before. Was it just this one guy? Maybe the feeling would pass. Yeah, he’d have to go on that. The day dragged on, and two hours later Dean was grabbing his coat and casting one last glare at Jo before escaping through the back door. Maybe the guy wouldn’t call at all. Was he really still thinking about this? Then again, Dean remembered the blush in his cheeks every time he walked by Castiel’s table. It had to mean something…


	2. We Didn't Start the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel keeps appearing in Dean's life. Is he just always going where Dean is going, or is Dean just starting to really notice him? A bit of excitement happens in the chemistry lab, as pertaining to Billy Joel's song as the chapter title, and what will happen to Cas?

Chapter 2  
Dean fumbled with the keys to his small apartment he used to share with his younger brother. At the age of 18, his brother Sam had gotten a huge scholarship to the school of his dreams--Stanford. He had asked Dean to review his applications and go over the essays required for acceptance. Dean had been writing short stories since he was a child and knew enough to write a decent adventure, so his experience had been helpful in reviewing Sam’s work. With the scholarship money from grades, his applications, and the fact that he didn’t have a father added up, Dean had to pitch in only a few thousand to pay for Sam’s tuition. 

It set Dean back majorly in his own debts and taxes, but if Sammy was happy, it was worth it. It was worth having to work two jobs and coming home to finish homework, usually only catching a few hours of sleep at best. It was worth the anxiety and high levels of stress that settled on Dean’s back every morning when he forced himself from under the covers. It was worth it, as long as Sam was able to live his dream. Dean could take a little suffering.

After entering his apartment, Dean tossed his messenger bag on the couch and set to work making himself a small sandwich. Seeing not much in his refrigerator, Dean groaned loudly, having to go grocery shopping added to his busy schedule for the week. Most kids look back on their college experiences and remember the drunken parties, the amazing moments spent with friends, the awesome spring breaks and fun. Dean hadn’t been to a party since that alcohol-filled senior graduation last summer. Last time he had any form of relaxation, probably, too. 

Shaking his head, Dean opened his Romanticism and Pre-1830s Literature textbook and got started on his sandwich while skimming the words. His teacher, Professor Franta, had given him the most homework of the semester yet. Essays, tests, more essays, studying, reading, more essays were all swimming around Dean’s head most of the time when he thought about that class. 

Around four in the morning, he sighed and slammed shut his book, eyelids drooping and closing multiple times as Dean tried to keep them open. It was around nine when his eyes finally did open again to the sun, and he jolted upright, thinking he would be late for class. Then he remembered—it was Saturday. His shoulders loosened up slightly at that notion. No classes he needed to stress about today. Just work. As per usual.

At ten he was in the Impala with his coffee in hand, driving down to the garage he worked at. He wore his worn grey tshirt with the familiar oil stains on it and his ratty torn-up jeans. His mood lifted slightly as he pulled up to the Singer Automobile Repair Garage and heard the music from his boss Bobby’s radio playing. He saw his friend Benny working up a sweat underneath the hood of an old Jeep that had a bad dent in the side. 

“Mornin’, Dean,” Benny grunted from under the hood before pulling back and wiping his forehead with a greasy rag, wiping more oil on his face rather than taking it off. 

Dean nodded in greeting before heading into the bricked building to alert Bobby of his arrival. The day passed slowly as usual, Dean busy working on fixing up an old 1965 Mustang. The stubborn engine had broken down again, but that was to be expected with old cars. Except his Baby. He took damn good care of her. 

Around the time of closing, Dean was in the back logging in his hours in a huge notebook Bobby kept on a desk. His boss was a bit non-contemporary in that way—he liked all his research and data kept in books handy on multiple shelves lining the walls. 

“Dean! We got one more, can you fix her up real quick?” He heard Bobby’s gruff voice echoing through the building.

After jogging out to see what the problem was, he stopped dead in his tracks next to Benny. His mouth may have dropped a bit more than one would deem necessary, but the sight was something definitely not to be expected. 

“Well he’s a bit pretty, ain’t he? Right up your alley, Dean,” Benny chuckled and nudged him. Dean returned the gesture with a death glare, causing another laugh from Benny as he said, “What’s your problem?” 

“I keep seeing that guy. I swear one day I’ll be driving down the highway and I’ll see him walking alongside or something. Or I’ll be in a motel room and he’ll show up in the window. He’s everywhere.”

“Do you want me to take him? I doubt it’s anythin’ more than an overheat,” Benny glanced back at Dean with a bit of concern.

Dean’s cheeks flushed as he answered too quickly, “No, no, it’s fine, really, I got it.” He ambled up to the car and its driver, a windswept man with crazy dark hair and amazing blue eyes. Unforgettable blue eyes. And those lips again…

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean clenched his jaw. “Hey, funny seeing you here, Cas,” He tried to change the subject quickly to avoid the inevitable awkwardness. “So what happened?”

“I was driving home from my classes and I heard something clatter from underneath my car, and then I lost control of the wheel. I was lucky I didn’t crash…” Castiel said. He didn’t mention the nickname; he merely tilted his head and squinted at Dean.

“Benny! It sure isn’t just an overheat,” Dean called over his shoulder as he grabbed the creeper to have a look under the car. Upon going under and coming back up, he informed his co-worker that the suspension spring came loose and was precariously dangling near the axle. Benny grimaced. Apparently this was going to take much longer than they had originally thought. 

“I don’t understand. What’s the problem?” Cas asked, cocking his head again.

Dean didn’t glance up at him as he put the board back on the ground. “Part of the suspension system, the things that let you control the wheel and brakes, is loose and not letting you brake, which probably is how you lost control of the car. You got towed, by the way, right?”

Cas nodded, unseen by Dean as he rolled back under the car with tools in hand. From Castiel’s perspective, all he could see and hear were Dean’s ripped jeans and boots and a lot of tinkering and gears twisting. “Can I help?” he asked innocently.

He heard a strained laugh come from underneath. “No, it’s alright, Cas. There’s not much you can do right now.”

After having to inspect Dean’s shoes for fifteen minutes in a silence broken only by the sounds of a wrench on metal, Cas sighed and shifted his weight. Nothing he could do to help but awkwardly stand here in the stretching quiet between this man and him. Should he try to strike up a conversation? His people skills were rusty, as he usually tells his brother, so he wasn’t exactly sociable. Dean saved the moment by rolling out again, a dark swipe of grease stained over his cheek.

“She’s a beauty, just sayin’. Where’d you find her?” He asked without making direct eye contact.

It took a beat for Castiel to realize Dean was talking about the car. “Oh, this old thing? Some sale somewhere I can’t remember.” He shrugged.

“A sale? For how much? It’s still in pretty nice shape, too. You can’t just find a cheap 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V on the side of the road for sale.”

Cas’s eyes narrowed as he heard Dean say the exact year and brand of his car. A guy who knows what he’s talking about. Obviously smart by the way he can work in such mechanics and obtain such knowledge on cars. Hardworking, too, by the way he could uphold two jobs at once while still attending classes. Cas snapped back to reality as he saw Dean looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry, what?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Where’d you find it and for how much? These things don’t come cheap.” 

Cas shrugged again. “I really don’t know. I believe I bought it off a desperate dealer a while ago. He didn’t want it anymore and really was eager to dispose of it. I believe he also sold it to me for less than ten thousand dollars.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Man, that really is cheap. Holy shit, you’re lucky. Anyway, I’m just gonna add water to that thing over there under the hood, the radiator, because I think you’re low on coolant.”

Benny tossed him a water bottle and he unscrewed the cap before pouring half the bottle into the small opening. He tossed the bottle to the side and closed the hood. Dean walked away to go log in the hours really quickly after muttering something to Benny that Castiel couldn’t catch. 

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll be right back,” Benny said in his southern drawl. 

Castiel nodded and pulled out his wallet. “Okay, who do I need to pay?” 

Benny smirked and chuckled under his breath. “Nothin’. Put that away.”

Cas’s eyebrows knit closer. “I don’t understand. How much is it?”

“No really, son, it’s nothin’. He’s got it covered,” Benny jerked his chin over his shoulder to Dean hunched over the notebook in the back, scribbling something down.

“What, no! I won’t let him pay for me—he did a lot of work!” 

Benny laughed. “Not much you can do about it now, son. He’s a stubborn one.”

Castiel opened his wallet and looked through his bills. A couple of singles, two tens, and a twenty. He took out the two tens and the twenty and shoved them in Benny’s hand. “”Then tell him he’s got a huge tip.” With that he got in the car and drove away.

Benny started laughing as Dean walked back over to where he stood. “Dean, brother, you should have seen his face. He was so pissed.” His laughter didn’t get any quieter.

“Really? I thought he’d be happy...” Dean trailed off as he watched Castiel’s car turn the corner down the street. 

“Underneath, yeah, but he tried to refuse. He left you this.” Benny handed over the wad of bills.

Dean was taken aback. Sure, it was a rash decision to decide to pay for Cas’s fix, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Dean definitely needed the money, but he wanted to do something for this guy. Who he barely knew. But that didn’t matter, right? He’d probably never see this guy again anyway.

~~*~~

 

Castiel was driving perfectly fine at first, or so he thought. That perfect man who saved his life. Who blushed when Castiel spoke to him. Who he saw at the diner, and then who fixed his car and paid for it. This man was the only thing preoccupying Castiel’s thoughts right now as he drove down 6th Avenue to his small apartment outside of campus. Not only was this man’s—Dean. His name is Dean. Castiel thought to himself. Not only was Dean’s personality perfect, but he knew he couldn’t ever grow tired of looking at that freckled face. With those green eyes. He’d only read about eyes of that color. And the jawbone and the tousle-able hair. He needed to run his fingers through that hair. 

Castiel shook his head and his eyes widened as he slammed the brakes before a red light, a loud car horn knocking him awake from his daydreams. He needed to stay focused. He felt like a teenager again, merely thinking about the boy of his dreams. 

His mind drifted back to the time he came out to his parents. His dad had most definitely not taken it well, kicking him out of the house at the age of sixteen. Luckily for him, his older brother Gabriel was eighteen, and had already left that God-forsaken home as soon as possible, so he had had his own apartment. Castiel had called him up and was able to live with him for a while. Four years, really, while Gabe found work in a nearby bakery. When Castiel turned eighteen, he hadn’t heard from his parents for two entire years, and his connection with them was completely distraught and broken. There was no going back to them now, or ever. 

Glancing at the dashboard clock, Castiel had twelve minutes to make it to his class, but he had to stop at his apartment first to grab his books. If his car hadn’t managed to break down, maybe he would actually make it on time—Who am I kidding? I’m never on time. He thought.

Once he was at the apartment he dashed inside, grabbed his books and ran back to his car as fast as possible. Six minutes left to make it to a building ten minutes away. The professor for that class, Milton, was actually usually later than Castiel was himself, so there was still the possibility he could slip in without getting a notice.

Pulling up in a thankfully open parking space close to his building, Castiel jumped out of his newly fixed car and held his messenger bag close to his chest as he bolted towards the door. He heard the sound of a car door closing behind him, and he turned quickly as he leaped up two stairs. His professor was just getting out of his vehicle, collecting papers and his briefcase. He glanced up and met Castiel’s eyes, smiling at his student and nodding to show him he had better hurry. Technically they were both late, but as long as you could beat the teacher, you were safe.

Castiel slid into his seat, breaths coming more heavily than normal. His professor came in a moment later, briefcase in hand, ready to start the lesson. 

“Chemistry,” he began. “is a dangerous art. One has to know the precise amounts of ingredients to make a compound; otherwise, a disaster may be the result. Today, class, I will put the instructions on the smartboard, and you will have to follow them exactly. The TAs will be walking around, as will I, to make sure you’re doing this correctly. There will be two reactions going on at once. You cannot mix the ingredients. Each person will be working on their own experiment, so you will not be working with your lab partner. You may ask him or her for help, but you may not work together on the same experiment as to lower the risk of mixing chemicals. Please be careful and wear your goggles at all times. The student sitting on the left of the lab table will be doing the first experiment; consequently, the student on the right will be doing the second. Here are the instructions.”

The professor stopped his strict speech of rules to upload the image of the instructions on the smartboard. Castiel was to do the second experiment, where he would be mixing ten different chemicals with ice to see if there would be any drastic changes. Not the most exciting thing to do, but at least it was a respite from the near impossible tests the professor bombarded them with randomly. His lab partner, Hannah, had the fun job: she had to put merely a drop of each chemical in a separate beaker filled an inch with thermite. Thermite, being a highly explosive substance the professor took weeks explaining so the class wouldn’t blow up the building, was a powdery compound, but when mixed with such a small amount of each chemical, there would only be a multitude of sparks to be expected to shoot from the mouth of the beaker. Much more exciting than Castiel’s, but he would be able to try Hannah’s experiment the next day.

Starting with magnesium, Castiel dropped a small block of ice into the test tube. He then added the small strand of magnesium ribbon and watched as bubbles started forming between the two objects. Fascinating. Castiel rolled his eyes. This went on for forty more minutes—he dropped a substance into the test tube next to the small chunk of ice. A small chemical reaction occurred, and that was probably as exciting as it was going to get. 

Castiel glanced over to Hannah’s side of the table, where she held the beaker at arms’s length with small sparks continuously shooting out of the top. Now that was chemistry. He reached over and grabbed one of the beakers that was closest to him. It was filled with some powder he knew was supposed to be dangerous. But if only the chemicals given to the students were supposed to cause the small explosion, then the substances Castiel had for his experiment surely wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

He smiled as he picked up a larger piece of ice. Nothing is going to happen anyway. He figured. His experiment was already finished, and being as boring as it was, it went by quickly. Castiel absentmindedly dropped the chunk of ice into the thermite in the beaker and set it at the back of the table. He leaned down and rested his chin on his forearms against the tabletop, and stared at the beaker, willing something remotely exciting to happen. Nothing did. He turned his head to look at what Hannah was doing, and he heard his professor yell. 

The surrounding students glanced up to see Mr. Milton staring openmouthed at Castiel’s table where his beaker had begun to smoke crazily. Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed as he backed up into the table behind him. Sparks began to shoot from the top, mounting higher and higher as more thick smoke spilled out.

“What the hell did you do, Novak?” his teacher’s scream was heavy with fear.

The smoke alarm went off as the room filled with the dense clouds. Students yelled as they bumped into each other, the tables, stools, knocking beakers and test tubes onto the floor, breaking them. Castiel couldn’t see anything as he tripped over a fallen stool and fell to the ground. The room was so full of smoke now and he heard an incredibly loud noise as he saw a fiery explosion cascade from the beaker, which split apart into a thousand tiny glass pieces, raining down on the student. The fire caught to the other beakers of thermite and soon was spreading. 

Castiel could hear the screams of the other students in the five-floor building as they raced down the smoke-filled stairwells to try to escape. He tried to follow the noise to the door by crawling on the floor; the smoke was too thick and there was fire climbing the walls to the ceiling. He saw the open door and army-crawled faster towards it. 

He heard the loud creaking and groaning of the ceiling above him falling apart. The floorboards had begun to rain down in heavy pieces, landing in his classroom in more showers of sparks. Castiel was coughing uncontrollably now and beginning to lose consciousness, as he couldn’t see or hear anything over the roar of the flames and the thick smoke. He continued crawling over the hot ground, burning his palms, arms, and knees on the parts of fallen ceiling. He was almost to the door, with one hand stretching towards the hallway, when the ceiling by the entryway collapsed, a six foot smoking beam falling to the ground.

His scream wasn’t heard by anyone as the beam smashed into his legs; everyone had escaped the building already.

~~*~~

Dean Winchester was falling asleep in his General Physics II class on the fifth floor. He had tried to keep himself awake during the terrible lecture—he had already finished his once-full cup of black coffee, his arms were littered with the times he tried pinching himself to keep his eyes open. It was no use. The old man in the front of the room was slowly killing him. That must be his intent, or so Dean thought.

One might have thought that having to race home from the garage after fixing Cas’s car to grab his books, and then running all the way to class would help keep one awake, but last night was a late one. Actually, Dean had gotten five hours of sleep, which was a new record for these past few weeks. 

They had just begun to learn about all the useless philosophers who came up with the “brilliant” forms of physics when the smoke alarm went off. Dean jumped up immediately, his senses sharpening to a bit more than human, his protective instincts taking over. He quickly ushered the other students and his teacher to the door before leaving himself, an urge to save the others first the only thing in his mind.

Being on the fifth floor, their class had to first mix with the other classes on their floor, and then mix with the classes from the ones below. Still, it took only around five minutes to get most of the people down to the first floor, where the labs were. Dean was still standing on the stairwell between the second and third floors, willing everyone to move faster, when he saw the thick smoke rising between the staircases. He knew there was a real fire, and a bad one considering all the smoke, and his instincts changed to tell him to run as fast as possible, and to ignore the rest of the people in there. 

Dean’s own mother had died in a fire when he was much younger, taking not only her life but their entire house. He knew all too well how much damage could be done to a building from just a couple of beginning flames. 

He had now descended another flight, standing on the landing between the first and second floors. The smoke was filling the hallways now, and Dean could sense the urgency from the surrounding people as well. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, people, move,” he muttered to himself. He was still standing last in the crowd, determined to let everyone else out before him. Dean could hear the sirens of fire engines and ambulances approaching in the far distance. 

Even if they don’t make it in time to save the building, at least everyone got out first. 

As he moved a few more steps downward, the crowd was thinning out as the people were filing outside. The lines were moving much faster now. He glanced down the hallway and could see the streaks of flame licking the classroom at the far end. 

Just as there were a few dozen more people to leave, Dean heard it. A single scream, high-pitched and filled with pain and fear. He spun around quickly, eyes wide and watering from the smoke. Where the hell did it come from? It sounded generally nearby, but in what direction Dean didn’t know for sure. 

In a spur of the moment decision, Dean was jogging down the hallway towards the room at the end. “Hello? Is anyone still here?” he screamed as he ran, glancing in empty, smoke-filled classrooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliff hanger. I was trying to get this chapter to 5k words, but my editor (my sister) told me I should end it on a cliff. Hey, at least I posted in six days eh?? Okay, sorry, but leave a review below!!


	3. Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Castiel groaned loudly as he rested his head of the burning hot floor of the deteriorating classroom. He thought this would be the end. The heat was becoming deadly, and he was still coughing from all the smoke. Chunks of fiery ceiling were collapsing around him, and he knew he couldn’t do anything about it. 

The heat from the fallen beam on his legs was hurting terribly, and he suspected there were holes being burned through his pants. The beam was six feet long, and too heavy to be moved without the support of his legs, which were paralyzed in place. It pinned him down, and every attempt to move failed from the intense pain that flared through his body.

Castiel’s sight was beginning to turn red around the edges from the heat and smoke, closing in on him and filling the room. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, which resulted in another painful fit of coughing. He barely registered the fire engine sirens approaching the school and didn’t even notice the other students fleeing the building. 

He definitely did not notice the man running up the hallway screaming for anybody’s reply. Castiel might have been crying if it hadn’t felt like all the liquid in his body had dried up. It was unbearably hot and he tried a last attempt to call out feebly. It sounded more like an antagonized whimper. 

He had listened and taken notes eagerly in his chemistry class these past few weeks, ready to do the experiments and sure he wouldn’t make a mistake. He was even looking forward to being able to use the thermite in his experiment tomorrow, but that wasn’t going to happen. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be there to see it happen tomorrow, anyway. 

With Castiel’s thoughts beginning to drift him away from the pain in the room, the lack of oxygen and amount of hurt in his body caused him to lose consciousness.

~~*~~

Dean Winchester was still jogging down the hallway, getting closer to the flames.

This is suicide. What are you doing, Winchester? He could almost picture his dad next to him saying his thoughts aloud.

Well, duty calls, and he had to make sure everyone really was out of the building. He ducked his head as he ran, stopping occasionally to glance into the empty classrooms. The smoke was becoming thicker than it already was, and it was getting closer to the ground as more filled the hallway. Ducking his head really wasn’t going to help much.

Dean started coughing and felt the heat from the flames at the end of the hall from thirty feet away. He was turning around, relief filling him that everyone was already safe, when he could have sworn he heard a groan from someone.

“Hello? Is anyone still in here?” he called, desperate for an answer. It never came. 

Then something terrifying caught the corner of Dean’s eye. There was a shadow in the classroom at the end, where the fire must have originated. The shadow covered a space on the ground, and as Dean jogged towards the flames, he could have sworn he could see a hand that was stretched out just inside the door.

That hand better be attached to a body. Dean’s eyes widened. A preferably alive body.

At ten feet he started sprinting faster than a track star towards the door, half oblivious to the fire seeping through the top of the doorframe. There was definitely someone still in there, and they had just moved a second ago, their head falling to the floor. 

Dean slowed right outside the door, but didn’t stop as he took a deep breath, took a single step in the burning classroom, and was about to grab the person when he saw the huge fallen beam resting on the victim’s legs. 

“Shit!” he muttered and moved closer towards it. He hesitated for only a moment, contemplating quickly on how to move the beam, and began to push it to the side, kicking and shoving. It broke apart, mostly degrading anyway from the heat, and Dean grabbed the body. He grunted loudly as he picked it up bridal style, but having to deal with the heavy weights in the garage had its advantages. Dean thought his skin was beginning to blister from the extreme heat, and it felt like his hands were on fire already. He tried to run down the hallway, but with the body in his arms he could only go as fast as a quick, awkward shuffle. None of the pain was being registered in Dean’s mind, and his vision was blurry. He didn’t notice the dangerously hot skin of the man touching his arms.

He saw the fire engine pulling into the parking lot as he reached the end of the hall, breathing hard and coughing roughly from the smoke. The fire alarm didn’t even register in his ears anymore—the repetitive noise becoming routine. Dean moved down the stairs as fast as he could, but his arms were growing sore from holding such a weight for so long. 

When he finally got outside, the air was welcoming on his burning skin in contrast to the amazing heat inside. There was an ambulance only a couple of feet away, and Dean shuffled up to it, adrenaline still pumping strongly through his veins. A nurse who was anxiously biting her nails stood outside the open back doors of the vehicle, and her eyes widened as she saw Dean approaching her with the body in tow. 

She called around the side of the ambulance, and a male nurse rushed forward beside her, gloves and mask on. He slid out a stretcher from the open back of the van and skillfully pushed it open, his hands flying. He helped Dean lower the body carefully onto the soft white cotton, and as soon as he did, Dean crumpled to the ground, tears in his eyes that he couldn’t feel and the hard parking lot ground digging into his knees. More medics ran over to them and helped Dean to his feet, sitting him in the back of an ambulance with a blanket around his shoulders as they began to check his condition. 

Dean could see the medics’ mouths moving as they were saying words to him, but he didn’t answer. He couldn’t make his mouth move or make sound come out. He couldn’t hear the words the medics were even speaking. Everything was moving in slow motion, and Dean felt like he was trapped watching a silent movie that he couldn’t control or stop. He began to panic, his breathing coming faster and shallower, his eyes widening with tears spilling down his cheeks. His skin didn’t feel hot or painful; it was clammy and was cold to him. The scene in front of him began to spin slightly, dizzying him even further, as he tried to focus on the sight of the students watching the building and firefighters from a distance, and the cops asking around for information on what happened. 

The medics wrapped the blanket further around Dean’s shoulders, but he shrugged it off impatiently; he was sweating and shaky, even though he thought it was cold outside. The medics persisted to put the blanket back on, and Dean was hit suddenly with exhaustion and nausea. 

This is too much.. I’m going to be sick.. Everything was spinning out of control. 

“Sir, I’m going….. Sir, please…” Dean tried to focus on the words the medic was saying. Then multiple people were moving him onto a stretcher, and the doors closed behind them, and suddenly they were moving… The medics were yelling to each other and the siren was wailing interminably.. And it was all too much and too loud. 

He vaguely may have felt his pants being cut off above the knee, but he wouldn’t remember it earlier. He wouldn’t remember the medics yelling to each other that he had got into slight hypovolemic shock from excessive burns and too much loss of perspiration and blood. His shins had been seared heavily from kicking the fallen beam off the man, and were bleeding, though not uncontrollably. An IV was placed in his arm, pumping vital fluids that he had lost during the fire. He lay unconscious on the stretcher as the ambulance drove off to the hospital, oblivious to the world other than the black behind his eyelids.

~~*~~

Castiel woke up alone in a hospital bed in a pristine white room. Looking around, he saw a glass of orange juice on the side table, and the rest of his body from upper chest down was covered by a white sheet. He closed his eyes, which burned with every turn. Everything hurt, and he wasn’t even moving yet. He attempted to swallow, and was stopped as his throat was far too dry. Cas remembered the glass of juice on the table, and he opened his burning eyes for a moment to try to reach for it. He grunted as the IV in his arm was jarred. His entire body screamed as he stretched for the glass, and he stopped, lying with his head back and eyes shut. Not even his eyes could be closed remotely tightly. Anything he moved or tensed stopped him in his path immediately. 

The door to his room opened, and a small woman in light blue scrubs walked in. “Glad you’re awake, Mr. Novak.”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t—his dry throat and raspy vocals cords restricting him. The nurse continued talking as she moved to the bedside table. “You’ve been out quite a while. Nearly 28 hours.” She picked up the glass and held it up, indicating to him she was going to help him. She lifted it to his lips and allowed the liquid to pour down his throat, soothing the soreness and allowing him to attempt at a conversation.

“What,” his voice cracked, barely a whisper. He cleared his throat with whatever muscles he could use and tried again. “What happened?” The sound was even more gravelly than normal.

The nurse leaned in to hear his words. “You were caught in a fire, don’t you remember? A man pulled you out and we rushed you straight here. You’re at the Firstburg Medical Center.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed and he grimaced. A fire? He could barely remember what happened two days ago. A man pulled him out? Who was it and how could he find him? 

The nurse was looking at the screen and checking his vitals. “You’re looking pretty good, Mr. Novak. Hopefully you’ll be out of here soon. Those burns are going to need to be checked out more today..” She trailed off and Cas looked up expectantly, hearing the hesitating in her voice.

“What.. What is it?” he croaked.

She shifted uncomfortably, and a man with a medical mask hanging by his neck entered behind her. He was tall, with olive skin and dark hair covering warm brown eyes. “Kathleen, how is he doing?”

“He’s awake, sir, and his vitals are fine.” 

The doctor looked at Castiel and sighed. “You’re in quite a predicament, kid. It’s going to be a while until you can walk normally again.”

“Sir—,”

Castiel’s mouth dropped and he stuttered in his whispered reply. “Wh—what are you talking about?”

“Sir, he doesn’t know his condition yet.” The nurse said, too late.

The doctor leveled his gaze at her. “You haven’t told him yet,” he said, like a question. “Mr. Novak, the fire gave you quite a few third-degree burns. Your legs..” He stopped a moment, as if he were trying to brace himself for the news. “There must have been a heavy impact on your legs because your tibia and fibula broke on your left, and on your right the burns have greatly affected the nerves and bruised the tibia bone. I’m very sorry, Mr. Novak. You will be able to walk again, but it will take many weeks. Even if you hadn’t broken your legs, the burns have affected your muscles and they need to heal.” 

Castiel stared. Without legs, it would be impossible to move. How would he get to class? A wheelchair would be incredibly tedious to use all day, from building to building.. Maybe he could take online classes..

“—you could stay with?” The doctor finished. 

Castiel snapped out of his thoughts and looked back to the man. “Sorry, what?”

“Is there anybody you could stay with for the time being until your legs have healed? You’re going to need immense help day to day just to get around for your daily needs.”

He ran through the short list of his contacts in his head. There was really no one he knew well enough who would live with him. He had his doctor, his brother, his parents, which for some reason he still had their contacts. It wasn’t like he would ever speak to them again. There was that cute guy from the diner and garage, and his friend, Meg. That might work. Meg was one of his only friends. But then he remembered—Meg was in Aruba for two weeks for her mom’s third wedding. That wouldn’t work.. Gabe was planning to move in a couple of weeks, so moving in with him would be too much of a hassle. 

“Mr. Novak, if you can’t think of anyone right now, we can come back to it. The police may be wanting to come in for interviews later today. They’re going to want to know one specific question— how did you get out of the building?” The doctor addressed him.

Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tried to wheel his mind back to the fire. He couldn’t remember anything that happened after messing with the test tubes and beakers. “I’m sorry, but I can’t remember,” He croaked. 

The doctor nodded. “As I thought. It was a traumatizing experience; no one could expect you to remember.” As he turned towards the door, he added, “We’ve put casts on both of your legs while you were unconscious. We’ve treated the burns to the best of our ability, but the maximum we were able to do has been done already, so only time can heal. I’ll get the secretaries to check on any distant relatives you may have.”

He left, and Cas internally groaned. He didn’t have any distant relatives— that was the thing. His grandparents were now gone, and his parents would never want to come into contact with him ever again. 

The nurse spoke up. “You’re going to have to be in a wheelchair for a bit, Mr. Novak, until your legs are healed enough to hold weight.”

Cas nodded absentmindedly. This moving-in situation was a growing problem in his thoughts. He had no idea what his next plan would be. 

~~*~~

Dean had been awake for a while and had changed back into his jeans and t-shirt, even though the hospital nurse had tried to convince him not to. His argument was “I’m not going to be sitting here useless in a frickin’ dress!” The nurse didn’t fight back, as Dean’s motive was obvious and was not going to be changed. 

The nurse had told him he had gone into slight hypovolemic shock and all that other crap about his blood pressure that Dean had no intention of listening to. He didn’t have the IV in his arm when he woke, since he had only been out a few hours. Or so he thought. Apparently he had been unconscious just under a day, since the doctors kept drugging him to sleep so they could work on his burns. They were also making him stay in the hospital until at least 6:00 that night so they could see how he would do while he was awake. 

Apparently there was another patient in the hospital who was in the fire, too, and had worse conditions than he. Dean couldn’t remember anything about saving the guy’s life; he only vaguely could see the burning hallway and the shadow on the ground. The adrenaline rush lost him his memories of the short event. 

His shins were wrapped in bandages while the burns could superficially heal themselves. He slid off the bed as gracefully as he could—which wasn’t very smooth because the second his feet hit the floor his burns began flaring in pain, and his legs and body were still weak from the accident. He lurched forward and held onto the wall for support. 

The nurse came in to see what he was doing. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving. I’m just walking around. The doctor already said I could do that, remember?” he told her. She squinted her eyes at him suspiciously, but let him pass. 

It’s not like Dean wasn’t used to a bit of pain here and there, so he quickly grew used to the pain of his burns as he stretched his legs. Going down the hallway, he yawned, and made his way to the cafeteria. 

Hours slowly passed in the hospital, with Dean wandering around ignoring the pain in his legs. He looked into rooms as he went by, and got yelled at multiple times as he tried to enter rooms unopened to the public. 

A young doctor was walking by, and an idea came to Dean. He shuffled over to the man and asked, “Do you know where the burn victims go? I’ve been wandering around, and I kinda got lost…” 

The doctor smiled ruefully, taken slightly aback. “Why don’t I bring you?” His eyes traveled slowly down Dean’s slightly hunched body and back up to meet his eyes. “Follow me.”

Dean smirked and walked after the retreating doctor. 

On the way to the burn wing, the doctor explained that the medical center was a hospital with multiple other wings for neurology and cancer centers, along with a burn center for those victims. The entire time Dean was looking forward, yet it was obvious that the male doctor was glancing at him repeatedly. 

When they reached the burn center wing, Dean recognized where he was. He turned and thanked the doctor, and spun to leave. The doctor looked after his retreating, slightly limping form for a moment, and then he left the wing in turn. 

Dean continued forward until he passed a room with all the lights off except the one in the back. He saw the shape of someone’s feet at the end of the bed, the rest of the body being hidden by the curtain. The room was quiet, except for the constant low ringing that had just begun. It took a second for him to register the sound was a flat line. 

Three doctors dressed in light blue scrubs stampeded down the hallway the second the flat line started and ran into the room immediately, shouting some odd medical terms to each other. In the chaos, Dean was pushed against the wall across from the door as the doctors scrambled around to get the victim’s heart beating again. The stern words passed between each person was intense and quick; the nurse standing next to the heart monitor pushed back the curtain to allow more room for the rushing doctors. 

Dean stood, eyes wide, as he waited for the doctors to get out an AED and do the “CLEAR!” he so famously knew from Dr. Sexy MD. There was another woman standing next to the patient’s bed, inserting tubes into the guy’s arms. Two nurses lined up and began CPR, the one doing the chest compressions and the other using a bag valve mask to give breaths. There were others lined up behind, ready to step in for the compressions when the first nurse grew tired. They all moved so fluently, like a well-oiled machine, easily depending on each other to do the job correctly. 

Numbers were being shouted out, and the doctors at the foot of the bed were rapidly talking to each other, discussing what could have stopped the heart. The nurse pumping fluids into the victim’s arm turned and said something about how hypovolemia was occurring and he had low blood pressure and lack of oxygen, and the doctors in the back immediately wrote it down, another nurse near the bed connected more tubes to the patient. 

Dean stood, watching, but not really feeling. He stood in amazement gazing at all the people save a life and move so comfortably around each other. The nurses and students were switching out, continuing the CPR, but the seconds were stretching on, making the faces of all the doctors grow more worried. 

The main doctor looked at the clock next to the monitor and was about to call it, the others looking sadly and expectantly at him. Then the lengthy tone of the flat line ceased, and the beeping started again, the monitor showing the weak rate of the victim’s trying heart. Everyone in the room visibly relaxed, and the nurses checked his breathing. 

The blue-scrubbed men left the room and a few nurses stayed, making sure he was stabilized. They didn’t cast a single glance as they passed Dean, and when they were gone, he leaned into the room to get another look at the patient. He was surprised to see the man wasn’t old at all—probably around his age. Although the angle was bad, Dean could see the man’s mussed black hair sticking up everywhere and the sharp line of his jaw. 

Dean remembered he told his own nurse he would be back before three, so he turned to continue his way to his room, shaking his head to escape the feeling of recognition of the man in the bed. 

 

Dean entered his room and lay down on his cot, wincing as he swung his legs onto the mattress. He would have to call into Bobby’s and tell him what happened… How much did this cost? A jolt of panic shot through Dean as he remembered his low amount of pay and how much he struggled with finances just to pay his and Sam’s tuitions. 

“Yeah, boy, why ain’t you here?” Bobby picked up the phone. 

Dean bit his lip. “Yeah, Bobby, something happened.” He winced at his raspy voice. Bobby’s silence was his answer to continue. “There… there was a fire, and I got caught in it.”

Bobby stayed quiet before he quietly said, “How bad is it?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Couple of burns on my legs but overall I’m good. I’ll be home tonight. Sorry, Bobby.”

The older man almost laughed. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for, boy. Focus on gettin’ better.”

“I can be in tomorrow at four, though.” 

“No, Dean, you gotta get better first. Take your time. I won’t take this off your pay check.”

Dean sighed in relief. “Great, thanks. I’ll tell Sam myself.”

Bobby ended the conversation with a quick “alright” and hung up. 

Dean looked back down to his phone and noticed he had a few messages from Sam. Frantic texts asking   
“where are you”,   
“I swear to god if you’re sleeping in another bar”,   
“DEAN”,  
“wait what if you’re with someone”,   
“oops sorry”. 

He smirked and wrote back  
Sorry Sammy I was at school

His brother answered immediately.   
All night? 

Dean: Sam, don’t freak out.

Sam: Dean what the hell are you talking about?

Dean: There was a fire at the school and I’m at the hospital now. 

Soon enough, just as Dean expected, his brother’s image came up on the screen. He slid his thumb along the green answer button and held the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean, are you alright? How did it happen? Was it really bad? What happened to you? Was anyone else hurt? How…”

“Alright, alright, calm down. I don’t know how it happened, and I’m fine, really. I’ve been worse.”

“Dean…”

He laughed, somewhat nervously. “Sam, really, don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll be home tonight.”

He could almost hear his little brother shaking his head. “Okay, but I’m here if you need anything.”

“Yeah, Sammy, you got it.”

“I’ll pick you up if you want.”

Dean thought of his beautiful Impala and scoffed. “No, it’s fine, it’s not that far. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” In the typical Dean fashion, he hung up after his sentence. 

He sat with his hands in his lap, clutching the phone, and veered off into his thoughts. He was interrupted when a nurse in grey scrubs came to the door and knocked. 

“Dean Winchester?” 

He glanced up, moving only his eyes, and answered. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You’re being called to room 401,” she said. “The doctor wants to see you.”

His eyebrows furrowed. The doctor was actually making him, a burn victim, walk all the way to the room while he should be “resting”? He shrugged. The doc probably wanted him for an x-ray or something anyway. 

“Yep, I’ll be there.” 

When the nurse left he followed, looking at the door numbers and going left. He wandered for a bit before he found his destination, the door slightly opened with the number at the top. He pushed it open and saw a doctor standing at the foot of a bed, with the shape of someone’s feet at the bottom and the rest hidden by the curtain, just like in the room with the victim who flat lined. He stepped back and looked at the door number again, surprised it wasn’t an x-ray room. Recognizing the number from before, Dean realized it was the same room he had looked into previously. 

Peaking his head in again, Dean walked in and moved closer to the bed, not going past the curtain. He cleared his throat, making the doctor turn to him and cut his conversation with the patient. The man gave Dean an expectant look, almost as if he were saying “what do you think you’re doing in here?”

“I, uh, I was called in here? Dean Winchester.” 

The doctor’s suspicious look left, and he stuck out his hand. “Doctor Rose. I was the one who called you in.” 

Dean shook his hand and nodded, rolling onto the balls of his feet. “What is it?”

“Were you the one who carried Castiel out of the burning building?” 

Dean lowered his eyebrows. “He was in the fire? Is he alright?”

Doctor Rose pushed back the curtain and gestured to the man, inviting him to move further into the room. “See for yourself.”

Dean looked at the patient in the bed and saw him, with his completely mussed dark hair, and blue eyes wide and red-rimmed from exhaustion. Even looking as sick and tired as he was in the bed, his appearance still made Dean’s breaths come a second faster. 

He moved closer to Cas, one hand on the metal rim at the edge of the bed. Looking back up to Doctor Rose, he said, “Honestly I can’t remember much of it. Adrenaline rush, they told me. I dunno, but I think I remember seeing someone in the classroom and going over to them… It’s pretty damn fuzzy but maybe…” Dean’s face was contorted in concentration as he shut his eyes and tried to remember what happened. 

“The emergency medics on the scene told me that it was you who saved Mr. Novak here.”

Dean turned back to Cas and smiled slightly. Holy shit, his hair. “Well they remember better than I do. How’re you feeling?”

Cas shook his head slightly in response, staying quiet. Dean glanced up at the doctor for an explanation. 

“He’s been better. His vocal chords need some resting from all the smoke inhalation. I can’t give you the full report without his consent.”

They both turned to the patient and saw him slowly, carefully nod yes. The doctor went on, gesturing to Castiel’s legs as he spoke. 

“The tibia and fibula in the left leg have both been broken, and the bone bruised and nerves damaged in the right. The burns on both legs have affected the nerves, it being worse on the right side, and it will take a while to heal.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, I’m sorry, man, that’s terrible. But what does that have to do with me?”

The doctor narrowed his eyes. “You were the one who saved him. Why wouldn’t you be involved?” 

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, not knowing what to say. He turned to address Cas. “How’re you going to get around?”

“That’s where you come in, Mr. Winchester.” 

Dean paused for a moment before asking, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Earlier we were able to talk to Mr. Novak before we found out his vocal chords were damaged. He told us his immediate family had no connection to him, and he didn’t have any further family. In his contacts, he has you, his brother Gabriel, and his friend Meg. Said his ‘people skills were rusty’, so he didn’t have a lot of people to be affiliated with. Gabriel will be moving away shortly and cannot be taking anyone in at the current moment, and Meg is vacationing in Aruba for two weeks… You were the only person left.”

“So you want me to be his frickin housekeeper. His maid?”

The doctor attempted to not roll his eyes and failed. “Mr. Winchester, it may only be for two weeks until Meg is able to get back. We were hoping you could move into his apartment. It really is for only a brief while.”

Dean shook his head. “And now you want me to move in? I barely know the guy. I have a brother to take care of anyway.”

“Your brother is in college now, is he not? He should be able to manage by himself.” The sarcasm was nearly dripping as the doctor spoke. 

“I…” he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“You would only need to help with his basic needs. He won’t be completely helpless.” 

Dean looked at Cas, lying with his eyes wide and hopeful. “Uh…” He made a disbelieving face. “Two weeks, yeah.” 

He watched as Cas gave a small, cracked smile, and the doctor nodded approvingly. “Thank you, alright, well we got that situation figured out. Dean, when did your doctor say your release time was?” 

He shrugged. “I dunno, he said like around six I think.”

“That’s in a short while, so why don’t you go back to your room. I’m sure he’ll be wanting to do final check-ups on you.”

Dean smirked and moved towards the door. 

“And… Dean?” 

He stopped and turned his head slightly to indicate he was listening. 

“Castiel will be out most likely on Friday night. We’ll call you to let you know.”

~~*~~

Cas had to merely sit and watch as Dean was called in by his doctor to talk. His doctor had told him he wasn’t allowed to speak for 48 hours so his voice could heal. 

He lay in his bed, silent, with only the slightest of movements. He lowered his eyes to the floor while Dean and the doctor spoke about Dean moving in. The way the man kept hesitating to move in with him… Was it really that hard of a decision? 

Dean said he had a brother. Looking back on it, Cas realized he really didn’t know much about the man standing by his bed. Except that he was really good looking and obviously smart. Well, if he said yes to staying with him for two weeks, he would have a hell of a lot more time to learn about him. 

The doctor managed to convince Dean, even with his stubbornness, in a matter of minutes, but Cas could see he obviously wasn’t very happy about it. They made eye contact once, but Cas immediately looked away in humiliation. It wasn’t worth it. These next two weeks were going to be terrible. Hell, they were going to be even worse than he thought. He had a broken leg. 

Dean smirked as the doctor dismissed him, causing Castiel drew in a sharp, painful intake of breath, which sounded much more like a wheeze than he intended. It mustn’t have been noticeable, as Dean continued to walk to the door without a second look. He didn’t even say goodbye. 

The doctor turned back to him and said, “We have signed you up for physical therapy here for a few weeks. Just to help you get back on your feet properly. If you still feel that the therapy is needed after your amount of sessions are over, you are welcome to sign up for more.” 

Cas nodded, a bit flustered by the events that had just occurred. Dean, some hot stranger he barely knew yet had a raging crush on, was moving in with him. 

Snap out of it he thought. It’s only for two weeks. 

Something about it seemed legitimate, though. These next two weeks would either fly by or drag on slowly. For Cas’s sake, he hoped the latter. 

He fell asleep a short while later, waking when a pretty blonde nurse entered the room. She announced she was there for a quick check up and to see how he was doing. His vitals were still fine, nothing raising or dropping more than they should. 

The nurse smiled at him. “Would you like some entertainment? I know it must get kind of boring sitting around in a bed all day. Seems like a teenager’s dream, though, don’t you think?”

Cas could only return the smile and nod. His happy look disappeared the second the nurse broke eye contact with him; the boredom overcoming Cas and causing his lips to turn into a slight frown. He sighed and winced as pain shot through his chest. He wouldn’t mind if all the pain could be over by now, and he could go home. 

The night passed quickly, and the next morning came with nurses checking on his burns. They pulled back the bandages and covered his legs with some kind of stinging cream. At least he hoped it was supposed to sting. He tried to pay attention to the other procedures they were going over, but his brain was still in a sort of fog. 

Friday afternoon came and the doctor entered Cas’s room with a clipboard. “You’re all cleared to go. We’ve prescribed you with a few things to bring home, and of course your physical therapy sessions have been all set up, paperwork included. You’ll have to be taking it easy, and I mean it, Mr. Novak. Your injuries are serious, and we don’t want them getting any worse. We’ll be calling Mr. Winchester within the hour to come get you. 

“A wheelchair may be necessary for the time being. As both of your legs have been harmed, we see it fit that you use the chair for at least a week. If you feel you can sufficiently support your legs after that, crutches are available. Please do not strain yourself in any physical activities.”

Cas nodded along to the doctor’s words, only half listening. It’s not like he did many physical activities beforehand anyway. He went to and from class and to and from work. Driving each place, with not anything too physical involved. Except maybe those stairs leading up to his history building. My God there were too many. 

At six o’clock Cas was wheeled down to the lobby, where he saw Dean sitting alone. The nurse called out his name, and Dean’s head shot up, looking around. His eyes fell on Cas in the chair, and Cas watched as a corner of his mouth lifted sympathetically. 

“Hey, Cas,” his deep voice said softly as he strode up. 

Cas nodded back, eyes wide as they stared up at him.

Dean talked with the nurse for a moment before looking down at his new roommate. “Well, ready to go home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys... I know some of you have been waiting for this for a while. I really don't have an excuse. Well I'm off to do homework that should've been done hours ago


	4. Slow Ride

To say the least, it was a bit of a struggle to get Castiel out of Dean’s monster of a car, no matter how much elbow room there was. There was quite a bit of swearing as well. Cas was in no form to be moving by himself yet, and it’s not like Dean was exactly fit for the job either. But they both tried. 

Dean drove to his apartment first to grab some clothes and his toothbrush before heading over to Cas’s place. He usually took the stairs, the elevator being so god damn slow, but today his numb legs weren’t up to it. He stood in the box for a good five minutes before it managed to stutter the four floors up to his apartment.

Sam was lounging on the couch when he came in, his face buried in a trigonometry book. 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean announced as he closed the door behind him.

Sam jumped up immediately and ran to him. Dean put his hands up in defense at the giant man rushing him, and said, “Dude, calm down, we’ve been over this. I’m fine.”

“Can I meet him? Is he here?” Sam’s eager eyes lit up in excitement. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “He’s in the car downstairs. You can go down and be all creepy if you want.”

Sam smiled. “Fine. I will.”

“Sam, I was kidding…” His brother was already gone, leaving the door open. Dean sighed and grabbed his now full duffel and followed him out of the apartment. 

When he arrived downstairs and went to the front of the building, he saw Sam leaning down next to the passenger door window talking to Cas. He walked around the hood and got in the driver’s seat, glaring at Sam, who was grinning at something Cas had muttered. 

“Cas, you’re not supposed to be talking.”

Cas turned to him, face falling as he remembered. “Sorry.”

“That’s not how it works,” Dean smiled slightly.

Cas turned back to Sam and leaned closer to his ear to whisper something, his voice less strained. 

Sam’s grin sustained as he pulled back and said, “Yeah, thanks.” He moved to the back door and got into the Impala. 

Dean looked at him through the rearview mirror. “What’s up?”

“I’m coming with you guys, and you’re buying pizza.” Sam declared, meeting Dean coolly in the mirror. 

“Fine, but we’re watching Star Wars and you can’t stop me.”

Dean glanced over and watched as Cas’s small smile grew before he revved the engine and pulled away from the apartment. 

Cas had written the directions to his place on a napkin since he couldn’t audibly direct Dean. After a few minutes of Sam’s rambling they pulled up in front of another apartment building, where Dean stopped his car in front. He pulled the wheelchair from the trunk and brought it around to the shotgun seat. Opening the door, he stopped for a moment and just looked at Cas, confused. 

“Uh… I dunno how we’re gonna do this.”

Cas laughed a bit, almost noiselessly, and shrugged. 

Sam spoke up, “Dean, just lift him out.”

“Easier said than done, big man.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Sam asked genuinely.

“Nah, it’s fine… Cas, you good? On the count of three.”

Dean awkwardly moved closer to the seat and physically leaned Cas forward slightly, sliding his arms behind his back and under his knees. On the word “three” he barely succeeded in getting Cas from the car to the wheelchair, but over his time in the hospital, Cas had lost a bit of weight. 

Once they got to the apartment, Dean unlocked the door with Cas’s keys, and the three of them entered, two on foot, one on wheels. 

“Damn, this place is nice. Hey, Sammy, check it out—vinyls.” Dean said as he strode over to a box full of records. “We got Springsteen, Billy Joel, Elton John, Elvis? Do you listen to anyone good? C’mon, where’s the AC/DC?”

Sam grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and swung Cas through the kitchen to the couch. “Billy Joel is good.”

“Shut it, Sam. You probably only listen to audiobooks anyway.” That earned a slight laugh from Cas.

Dean stopped shuffling through the records with a disgusted face and looked over to Cas with a different expression. “You got any annoying brothers?”

Cas nodded and held up two fingers. Dean jutted his chin at Sam and said, “Must be harder than living with just one. He sure is a pain in the ass.”

Sam rolled his eyes and sat on the couch before saying, “Dean, you going to need any help moving in?”

Dean looked up with wide eyes, as if the realization that he really was moving in was just hitting him. “Uh, yeah sure, Sammy, sounds good. Cas, when do you think we can do it?”

Their eyes met as Cas stared at Dean wordlessly. Sam looked back and forth between the two of them as if a silent tennis match were going on before saying, “Dean, he’s not supposed to talk.”

“Oh yeah, well, I’ll be home tomorrow anyway to pick up some more stuff, so I guess we can just do it then.” He lowered his eyes and instead moved around the apartment, checking out the two bedrooms and the small living room and kitchen. “You staying for dinner, Sammy?”

A look of slight gratitude lit up on Sam’s face as he smiled at his older brother. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll pick up the pizza.” 

Sam was already walking out the door, not seeing Dean’s nod behind his back. Dean lowered himself to the couch and looked over to Cas, uncomfortable already. He reached for a lonely sheet of blank paper on the coffee table and handed it to the other man, grabbing a pen for him to write instead of speak. 

“We should play charades, it wouldn’t be exactly hard for you,” Dean tried with a weak joke. Cas just gazed up at him with his bright blue eyes, only slightly dulled from the red rim around them. “Or… we could start that movie. Yeah, let’s do that. I brought Star Wars. You know that new one just came out. Didn’t see it yet, but I overheard a bunch of dumbasses at the diner talking about it. Spoilers everywhere, man. I thought I was gonna be okay, but then I overheard them, and oh my god…” 

Dean looked up from where he was digging in his bag for the movie and saw Cas staring, slightly amused with humor dancing in his eyes. Dean huffed a small laugh. “Sorry… I talk when I’m nervous.” 

Why the hell would you tell him that, Winchester? You’re not supposed to come off as nervous, what the hell.

Cas shook his head, smiling, winced in pain, and went back to just staring again. 

Dean’s haltering smile slipped a little when he saw the pain Cas was in. His hand closed upon the hard plastic DVD case, and he pulled it out, not taking his gaze off the other man. 

“Are you on any meds? Like for the pain,” Dean mentally hit himself. Everything he was saying sounded redundant or run-on. 

Cas nodded ever so slightly. 

“Where are they? When did you last take them?” 

He squinted his eyes at Dean, as if mentally telling him to slow down the questions. Dean gestured towards the notepad, on which Cas wrote “in the bag on the back of wheelchair” and “two hours”.

Immediately getting up to grab the pill bottles, Dean muttered the instructions quietly to himself. “Take every six hours, adults 2 pills.” He placed them on the coffee table. “Well, that sucks. Gotta wait, you already took them at the hospital. Anyway, I’ll make popcorn.” He opened the DVD player and stuck in the disk, playing the commercials at the beginning of the movie. 

In the kitchen, Dean jumped up on the bare countertop and turned to just look at Cas. He looked tired, sad. His eyebrows were lowered just enough to draw a little line between them, and his mouth was turned down in a little pout. He wasn’t moving at all except for his eyes flickering at the television, and Dean wondered how much pain the guy must really be in. His mind wandered back to a few hours previous, before he had first left the hospital. 

After Dean had talked with Cas’s doctor, he went back up to his own room to see if his nurse had wanted to tell him anything before he left. The room was empty, and he sat on his bed trying to think over the events that had happened in the school the day before, not really fully comprehending what had occurred, and trying, yet not actually being able, to recover all the details of the lost memory. 

A knock on the door had Dean opening his eyes he hadn’t known he was squeezing shut so tightly in concentration. He had looked to the door and saw Cas’s doctor entering quietly. 

“Dean? I thought I’d find you here.”

“What’s up, doc?” he smiled ruefully, despite himself and his lame joke.

Ignoring the pun, Doctor Rose continued, “Since you’re going to be taking care of Mr. Novak, I’d like to ask you for another favor.”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “What is it this time?”

“Well Mr. Novak is going to need a way to regain the strength in his arms and legs, so I would like you to regulate exercises and stretches with him.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, okay, that’s fine. What kind?”

“With his wheelchair it would be difficult to bring him to the gym, but I have a short booklet describing different strength exercises. Regular dumbbells should work fine.”

“How… how long is he gonna be in the chair?” Dean asked, taking the booklet and thumbing through it quickly. 

“I would say six to eight weeks in the chair, and then up to twelve weeks on crutches.”

“Okay, just wondering what I’d have to prepare for.” He gave a half-hearted laugh. 

Dean’s eyes slowly refocused to the scene in front of him, leaving his reverie of the hospital conversation behind. He turned and began opening cabinets for the popcorn. He looked through two before he came across the box. 

“Dude, you buy Boy Scout popcorn? The movie shit is so much better,” he looked to Cas with a devious grin on his face. The other man didn’t smile, but there was humor lighting in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then remembered he wasn’t allowed, and turned back to the television. "Sorry to all the Boy Scouts..." he muttered. 

Three minutes later with only the soft murmuring from the TV and the popping from the microwave to break the awkward silence that would have existed between the two men, Dean placed a bowl on the coffee table in front of the wheelchair. 

“Can you eat?” he asked, sympathy evident in his voice. 

Castiel nodded slightly, but it was obvious in the way his eyebrows were furrowed that he didn’t exactly know how he could get to the food. 

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Dean’s voice softened, and his hand involuntarily reached out to rest on Cas’s shoulder. He winced and Dean drew his hand back quickly, muttering, “Sorry,” under his breath. 

He reached for the remote and turned the volume up slightly, leaning back into the far too comfortable couch and placing the popcorn bowl in the crook of his bent left leg. Checking his phone, he saw a text from Sam saying he’d be back within a few minutes. He resettled, trying to get comfortable in the slightly awkward silence, disturbed only by the moving picture on the screen. 

~~*~~

Cas sat in his chair, hating life. Absolutely hating life. He’d have to be practically immobile for weeks. What was the point? 

Then Dean was searching through his cupboards looking for popcorn, seemingly so comfortable in the kitchen. He watched as the man turned and hopped up on the counter. Three minutes later the bowl was next to Dean’s leg as he was shifting on the couch. That was the point. This man who he barely knew had to be worth it. The potential that was there had to be the purpose. The reason… 

Thankfully Dean had been so caught up in the movie, which was one of the seven Star Wars films, so he didn’t notice Cas’s staring. Everything, from the curve of his brow to the rounded lip, was perfect. That couldn’t be fair. 

God tried especially hard on this one. 

After a few minutes passed of intricately analyzing the man beside him, Cas heard his door open and assumed it was Sam. The smell of a freshly baked pizza swam through the room, and Dean groaned and got off the couch immediately. 

“Thank god, Sammy, I didn’t think you’d ever be back.” 

Sam shook his head, a playful smile appearing as he tried to come off as annoyed, “I’ve been gone barely ten minutes, Dean. But I got you some kind of burger.”

The second the last word of that sentence was uttered, Dean had snatched the bag out of Sam’s hand and opened it, looking for his burger. “You see, this is why I didn’t let you burn in the fire.”

Sam stared, openmouthed, at his brother. “The hell, man?”

Glancing up, his mouth already full with hamburger, Dean grinned around his food, “Sorry you can’t handle humor.”

Sam slapped him on the back of the head as he crossed to put the pizza on the table, causing Dean to sputter and choke. Cas sat, silently enjoying the little brotherly banter that was occurring as the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. 

Dean finished choking on his food and sat down on the edge of the table in front of Cas, placing his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers together. “Now. How are we gonna help you eat.” 

He attempted at a shrug, wincing a bit but realizing the painkillers were beginning to kick in much more. Sam’s voice came from the kitchen where he was grabbing three beers. “Just cut it up, he can probably use a fork, right, Cas?” 

As of now, Castiel had to create his own language. Shrugs, nods, and shakes of the head in various forms all were part of his own communication system. One he hoped he would never have to solely rely on again once he healed, but as of now he had to be completely dependent on it. He scrolled through his short list of options for actions, and decided a shrug was, again, the only choice appropriate. It’s not like he actually cared that the doctor had told him he wasn’t allowed to speak except that if he was to get his teaching degree, a professor (hopefully) shouldn’t actually be mute standing in front of a class. So all he could do now was wait. Just a few more hours. 

Dean balanced the plate on Cas’s knees, leaving a fork on top. Cas raised an eyebrow, telling Dean he was good and that he could back off now. Dean’s ears went a bit red before he settled back on the couch, watching R2-D2 and C3PO walking through the desert on Tatooine. Cas watched him again, noting how his eyes lit up at every move of the droids on the screen. 

He could feel eyes on him, so he glanced sideways to see Sam looking questioningly between the two of them. He gave a small nod as to say “come sit down,” and focused on picking up his fork. It was not easy. The dull aches in his arms pained him with every move, but at least they were usable. 

By the time Luke Skywalker and his uncle were inspecting new droids to buy from the Jawas, Cas had easily finished his plate. His lips pressed together as he looked at the two boys, both enveloped in the movie. The box was right there, and if his legs were working it would be no large feat to reach over and take another piece, but as of now he had no way of reaching it. 

He attempted to clear his throat, resulting in an awkward, scratching noise that seared and sent pain running through his neck. Sam glanced over as Dean leaned forward on the couch. 

“Aw c’mon Luke, R2 is in way better condition! He’s standing right there, you idiot!” his voice rang out, mixing with the beeping of the droids in the movie. 

“Dean,” Sam said, laughing quietly, “pass me two pieces.” 

“What?” Dean sat back and looked quickly at his brother. “Oh yeah, sure.” He leaned over and piled two pieces on Sam’s plate, his attention never leaving the screen. 

Sam’s smile was full of warmth as he used a knife and cut up the slice quickly before giving it to Cas, setting it in his lap. 

Cas smiled back to say thanks and closed his fingers around the fork, feeling his sore muscles in his forearm. Sam looked at him for a second longer before turning back to the television, laughing again at Dean’s reaction when Obi Wan’s name was brought up in the movie. 

Two hours later the movie ended with Dean’s relieved smile and infatuated remarks at Han Solo, and he turned to Cas with an expectant look on his face. “So what did you think?” 

“It’s not like he’s going to give a detailed explanation,” Sam spoke up. 

Though I can’t not talk for very much longer… The urge to use his voice was getting stronger as he saw the annoyed look growing on Dean’s face every time he expected an answer. This man had to live with him for two weeks and the first day he was staying he was already exasperated. A sharp wave of anxiety swept through Cas’s stomach as he realized that Dean might be actually miserable here. He had imagined it would be a pretty nice time, having to share an apartment for a while with a hot boy, but in reality if said boy was aggravated the whole time, it would only be awkward and tense. 

Dean glanced at the clock, “Okay, just 36 more hours and then you can talk.” Humor was evident in his voice, which washed away a bit of Cas’s previous anxiety. If he could just keep that cute little sense of humor, maybe this wouldn’t be all too bad. 

Sam stood up, taking Cas’s plate and bringing the others to the sink. Dean carried the pizza box into the kitchen and folded it up, pushing the sides together to fit in the trash can. 

“Dean, really?” Sam looked at his brother despairingly. “We’ve been over this.”

“Over what?” Dean pursed his lips as he tried to figure out how to get the box into the garbage. 

“The box goes in the recycling, dumbass,” Sam rolled his eyes as he took the box from Dean. 

The older Winchester copied his expression, “You’re such a nerd, Sammy.”

Sam glanced at his watch and announced, “I’ve got early work tomorrow, so I’m gonna go. See you guys later.” On second thought, he added, “Feel better, Cas.” 

Cas watched as Sam turned and closed the door behind him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the top of the wheelchair, taking a deep, aching breath. He could feel Dean standing there, could almost see him shifting from foot to foot as he tried to come up with something to say or do. 

Cas opened his eyes and looked to Dean, who was leaning against the kitchen counter closest to the living room, hands in his pockets. Cas lifted his hand and made a gesture like he was writing something, which had Dean pushing off the counter and passing him the notepad and pen again. Cas shakily wrote “I want to talk”, using as few words as possible to get his point across, and handed the note back to Dean. 

The other man exhaled slowly, “Probably not a good idea. You should wait.” 

Cas shook his head to say I don’t want to anymore. 

“Yeah, I know, sorry. I just… I really wouldn’t try it. Maybe in the morning.” A sympathetic frown took the place of Dean’s usual smirk. He stood and grabbed the handles of Cas’s chair. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.” 

Cas’s head turned sharply to the side to look at Dean out of the corner of his eye. 

“Wait, no, jeez, dude, I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean gave out an awkward laugh as he corrected himself. Cas faced forward again, lips moved into a short grin as he made the other man feel uncomfortable, which was odd to see in such a strong, stoic guy. 

Dean continued to push the chair into Cas’s bedroom, where the bed was made neatly from yesterday morning, where Cas had easily been able to pull up the covers, moving around effortlessly, with no idea of what was to come later that day. 

“Which side you usually on?” Dean broke the silence.

Cas lifted his right arm, and as Dean maneuvered the chair around the bedposts, he muttered quietly, “Good, because the left is mine.” 

Cas’s eyebrows furrowed, wondering why he had said that. The confusion from Dean’s saying soon changed to being confused as to how to get him into bed.

“Man, you gonna sleep in jeans? And I guess we’re gonna have to run this like how we did getting you out of the car,” Dean stood in front of Cas, who tilted his head back slightly to see the freckled face. 

“Can you, uh, lean forward, I guess?” Dean moved to the handle, where his ears were beginning to tint a darker shade, and he put his left hand near Cas’s shoulder with his other near Cas’s knees. The blue-eyed man faced Dean with an amused look, trying to figure out where he was going with this. 

Their eyes met and Dean grinned, quickly looking away. “Shut up. It’s only awkward if you make it awkward.” This caused a wide smile of his own to spread across Cas’s lips as he tried to slide slightly forward in the chair. 

Pain coursed through his core and back, and he groaned audibly, shutting his eyes tightly. Dean drew a sharp intake of breath and grimaced at the sight, slipping his left arm above Cas’s hips and somehow, his other arm found its way quite ungracefully under Cas’s immobile legs. The dark-haired man braced himself as he heard Dean breathe a quick “one, two, three” before heaving him up and laying him in the bed. 

Surprisingly, it wasn’t as painful as he had thought it would be, and he looked up to Dean to see him appearing quite satisfied with his work. 

“You going to keep the jeans on, or…?” Dean ended the question openly, shifting his eyes away from Cas. 

He often fell asleep on his couch, not even making it to his bedroom, fully dressed on the nights when his schoolwork overtook him, so going to bed one night in jeans wouldn’t be unusual. The feel of the soft, cold sheets would feel amazing on his sensitive legs though, so he was tempted to ask Dean for help, even though he knew Dean wouldn’t be comfortable with it whatsoever and his ears would be on fire the entire time. 

A smile crept on his face as he was thinking of this, and Dean saw it and grinned in spite of himself. He was shifting from foot to foot, obviously already uncomfortable with the idea of pulling pants off a guy he just moved in with. 

“Fine, just, uh, give me a yes or no and I’ll do whatever.” His eyes seemed to find everything fascinating in the room that wasn’t Cas. 

Why did he even ask about the jeans? If anything, he’d take off his shirt first. He shook his head slightly, smile still present as he laughed to himself about Dean’s blatant embarrassment. 

Dean met his eyes again and the relief was evident on his face, “Okay, yeah, cool. So, I’ll just see you tomorrow then. Try to get some sleep, huh?”

Cas reached out quickly as Dean turned to leave, groaning loudly as the pain swept through his chest and outstretched arm. The other man moved back quickly and leaned down. 

“What the hell was that? Are you trying to hurt yourself?” 

Cas opened his mouth, eyes shut tightly. He felt Dean lean closer to hear him. “Your sheets… in closet.”

Dean stood straighter. “Really? You aren’t supposed to be speaking anyway, and you waste your breath to tell me that?” he went to the door. “Could’ve figured it out myself,” he muttered. 

Cas smirked, eyes closed, and fell asleep to the sound of the other man moving around their newly shared living space. 

 

The next morning Cas woke up in a slight panic, sitting up and falling back down on his pillows when his muscles didn’t cooperate. Did he have classes today? What day was it? How the hell was he going to—

Dean’s whistling from the kitchen and the clanking of frying pans as he made breakfast reached his ears, and he relaxed. It’s Saturday. He was in an accident, and now there’s a pretty boy in his apartment.  
Cas stared at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he could possibly get out of bed without potentially killing himself. The whistling stopped and footsteps approached his bedroom, the door swinging open. Dean’s head peeked in cautiously, thinking Cas was still asleep, but when he saw his open eyes he moved past the door. 

“Hey,” he spoke softly, as if he were still trying to not wake him up. His hair stuck up in fifteen different directions and his eyes were still heavy with sleep. He wore a tight black shirt and low-slung sweatpants hanging from his hipbones. 

Cas raised an arm weakly in a wave, not answering yet. 

“Think you can eat something?” 

Cas looked as if he had swallowed sandpaper for a moment before attempting to speak. “I want to…” His voice was exceedingly scratchy, even more gravelly than it had been before. 

“Hey, none of that. You’re not supposed to be speaking.” Dean moved to the edge of the bed.

He smirked. “I don’t really care about those unnecessities, Dean.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re gonna damage your vocal chords or some shit, like the doctor said.” 

He waved him off. “I don’t sing anyway.” 

Smiling, the other man shook his head and helped Cas into his wheelchair, much less awkwardly than the previous night. 

“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” Dean steered the chair into the living room and handed Cas a plate of pancakes. “See if your throat can handle it.” His ears reddened at his statement, and he quickly left to busy himself with washing the pans. 

Cas shot him a confused look, but overall ignored it. “I… I need to sign up for my classes today.” 

“At the college? You actually gonna drive—or, I mean I’m gonna bring you down…?”

“No, online. Not in my condition.” He took his pills from Dean as he came over, swallowing them down with a shaky hand. 

“Oh, yeah, okay. And those leg exercises and stuff, doc’s orders. They’re probably going to suck.” He perched on the arm of the couch. 

Cas took a deep breath. “This is incredibly unfortunate, I hope you understand.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean pulled up his sweatpants leg to expose his reddened skin, parts more browned than others, “It’s not the best situation for me, either.”

Cas paused, studying him. “Thank you… for coming back for me. You didn’t just leave like the others. And I was in the furthest back room.” 

He lifted a shoulder, seemingly careless. “Yeah, no big deal—,”

“No, Dean, you don’t get to blow this off,” he held up a weak hand, “You realize I would have actually died in there.” 

Dean pursed his lips, looking away silently. 

“What… what made you turn back?” Cas asked before starting in a fit of coughing.

“Hey, you good there?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed in concern as his hand found Cas’s back. 

He waved him away, “Fine, fine.” He looked at him expectantly, still waiting for an answer.

Dean sighed. “Long story.”

Cas gestured down towards his wheelchair. “Not like I’m exactly going anywhere,” he said with a smirk. 

The other man smiled ruefully before saying quietly, “Yeah, but that’ll change. You’ll get better.”

“Go ahead, Dean.”

He cleared his throat. “Okay, well my mom died when I was four. House fire. I carried my younger brother out myself, him being six months old. Watched the entire place burn down myself with my mother still inside. I couldn’t do anything. Anything. I’d give anything to trade places, or… or go back in time and get her out, or warn her, or something.” He ran his hands through his hair anxiously, his eyes skirting back and forth into space. “I guess it’s from that. Not wanting to watch other people die or get hurt the same way. Little things, you know…”

Cas attempted a sympathetic nod, figuring he would continue. 

“So, I… I dunno, I heard your cry out, and I kind of panicked. Figured it couldn’t happen again, not if I could have helped it, in this case. So I just went for it. For you. I mean… you know what I mean.”

Cas tried to reach out and touch Dean’s knee, but the movement jarred his bruised ribs. “That makes sense.”

He watched cautiously as Dean shrugged, finding the end of his story as an excuse to clear the dishes. 

“I didn’t think it would be that meaningful,” he ventured.

Dean shrugged again as he tried to seem nonchalant. “Yeah, guess you could call it that. It’s over now, anyway, and luckily you’re still alive.”

The corners of Cas’s mouth lifted at his comment. “Thank you.”

Dean glanced at him in surprise. “What? Oh. Oh, I mean, I—never mind. Yeah, no big deal. Forget about it.”

“Your choice, Dean. Classes first, or exercises?”

He bit back a wider smile as Dean made a face at the computer. “Dude, college sucks. Go with the exercises.” He tossed the doctor’s manual on the coffee table. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... My excuses about it taking so long haven't changed. So let's just blame it on writer's block this time. Sorry.


End file.
